


Pride Cometh After The Fall

by nbarker1990



Category: The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6726169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nbarker1990/pseuds/nbarker1990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He hates this, her insecurities and the way she doesn’t really trust him when he compliments her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride Cometh After The Fall

He likes to watch her get dressed almost as much as he enjoys undressing her later on. The fabric is silky smooth (but not as smooth as her legs) and clings to her body like a second skin (and it’s a crime to cover that skin up, truly). She’s standing in front of the mirror and so Blake makes himself comfortable on the floor, his back leaning against their bed. It’s a good view and he tilts his head slightly because, christ, how are her legs even that perfect and can he touch yet?

“Gonna zip me up, babe?” she asks and he doesn’t even need to look at her face to know she’s amused by him. It’s something that never fails to create an almost uncomfortable knot in his stomach, knowing that she actually likes the dorky, corny side of him and doesn’t just put up with it. He shifts forward on the carpet, settling onto his knees and nuzzling into her. She puts a steadying hand back, resting it on his head (and yeah, she tugs his curls just a little bit and he LOVES that) and gives him a warning look.

He manages to get to his feet and zips her up, making a small detour on the way (kisses, soft and gentle, on that small hollow of her back). She sighs and runs a hand down her stomach and watching her expression flicker in the mirror, he knows she’s not happy. Blake spans his hands around her waist, loving the way she almost sinks back into his embrace the moment he makes contact. 

“It’s not flattering,” she says quietly, tugging at the fabric on her stomach. “I look fucking bloated.”

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous, Gwen.” She gives herself another look and sighs. He hates this, her insecurities and the way she doesn’t really trust him when he compliments her. “One day you’re going to believe me.” He wants to kiss her, badly (he sometimes wonders if the hunger will ever abate; he hopes not), but the make-up and the fact that they’re dangerously close to running late are deterrents. As usual. 

“I believe that you believe I’m beautiful,” she says haltingly and he could take a whip to her ex when she becomes melancholy like this, he really could. “It’s just…” She turns around and rests her head on his chest, her fingers tapping a rhythm out over his heart. Gwen finally takes a deep breath. “Thank you,” she finally says, and it’s firm and resolute but he wishes for more. 

“Look at you.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head, carefully avoiding messing up her hair (he doesn’t have a death wish). “Accepting a compliment like that.”

She chuckles and it’s half-hearted but he’ll take what he can get. “I’m trying, like, it’s more difficult than you’d think.”

“You’re really strong. I love that about you.” He quirks an eyebrow.  

She laughs and it’s more real this time. “Thank you, Mr. Shelton. I appreciate that.” They’re going to be late, he thinks, but this is more important. Todd can wait.  

“You’re hot. And sexy. And beautiful.” Grinning, she pinches him. “You’re also warm-hearted and generous and sensitive in the best of ways. You love deep and hard and true. You are open and honest and you care. And you’re really, _really_ hot. Not sure if you'd heard that or not.” 

 

Her laugh is tight, almost, like she’s trying not to cry as well, and he needs to see her eyes, needs to know that this isn’t making things worse for her. He’s had to learn when to stop, when to slow down. Sometimes she finds it too overwhelming and so he tries to make a game out of it for himself, rationing what he thinks out in small parcels. On Monday, he tells her that he loves that new paler lipstick he just bought. On Tuesday, he texts her to tell her that she’s the best mom in the world. On Wednesday, he tells a reporter how intelligent she is, knowing she’s eavesdropping. Thursday comes and Blake misses her hugs like crazy while he’s at work and says so during their brief phone call. Friday, Saturday and Sunday go past in like fashion. She blushes like mad nearly every single time but he’s pretty sure she appreciates it. 

Eventually, he breaks their embrace and turns her back around to face the mirror. “You’re an amazin' person and I couldn’t be more proud.” She seems to fold in on herself when he says that, like his words physically hurt. His immediate instinct is to apologize, to try and fix the situation (Miranda had never backed down), but apparently that’s not what she needs.

“You’re proud of me?” she says and her voice is so small that he almost has to strain to hear her. 

“Who wouldn’t be?” he asks, praying she hears how much he means it.

 

Todd doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t say a thing, really, when they arrive half an hour later at his house; he just grins at his sister and wipes some smudged lipstick from Blake’s neck. 


End file.
